Crepúsculo

Crepúsculo

Chapter 3

Accommodation

***************

At first Ginny thought she simply wouldn't go to meet Draco. Why should she? She couldn't think of a single reason.

But at 7:30 Ginny was wrapped in her cloak, telling Cora she was off to meet someone, (if Cora assumed she meant Jeremy, it was no fault of Ginny's) and hurrying vaguely in the direction of the North Tower.

She knew where it was, of course. Very few students were unable to find the major sections of Hogwarts, the wings and towers and such, after the second year, though it was highly unlikely that any two of them used the same route to arrive at a given location. Out of the four cardinal towers, the North was perhaps the one used least frequently; Ginny hadn't visited it in some time. She remembered it as a dark, grubby place, used more for storage than anything else, full of broken furniture and ripped curtains.

Ginny pushed open the heavy oak door that marked a tower entrance and found herself at the foot of a distantly-familiar spiral staircase. As she ascended her attention was directed more and more at the destroyed paintings that riddled the walls, highlighted by flickering torchlight. The people in the paintings could move around no longer, not without having their canvases repaired, which no one had bothered to do, but their eyes followed Ginny as she marched up the stairs. Those unhappy eyes pleaded with her. Help us. Please. Help us.

Whenshe finally saw the door at the top, she knew that it had been a near thing: too many more stairs would have set her screaming at those paintings. Her screams wouldn't have affected them. They would have kept on staring.

Ginny was starting to get used to the idea that through the door lay safety, when she remembered exactly with whom she was meeting tonight. Safety rested the other way, down the stairs, past the eyes. Through another door, not this one. She wasn't ready to face those eyes again yet, so she opened the door.

Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the unaccustomed dimness. The only light came from the hearth, in which a fire blazed. She caught a few glimpses of the furnishings, enough to confirm her memories of the place as a treasure trove of broken dreams: beautiful chests scarred by flames, three legged chairs, shredded ball-gowns.

A voice from the chair nearest the fire. "You're late."

"I wasn't planning on coming at all."

"You shouldn't have arrived late."

"Well, that's just too bad. If I am late, it's those paintings' fault."

"They've never bothered me."

"No, they wouldn't dare disturb a Malfoy," Ginny sneered.

"I imagine not," he replied, ignoring, or perhaps unaware of, her sarcasm.

"Why did you leave that note in my robes last weekend?"

"What makes you think I left that note?"

Ginny slumped down on a velvet couch of indiscernible color. "Don't be an ass, Malfoy, who else could it have been? And only a Malfoy would chose a place like this for a meeting."

Malfoy looked up at her, somehow positioning his head so that his eyes caught the firelight and glowed orange. "Why did you come then, Weasley, if you don't want to be in a place"--he selected a condescending tone--"like this."

"For one, because you never did tell me exactly what you were doing in the girls' bathroom last week."

Malfoy's teeth flashed. "All right, Weasley, if you must know, I was there to take a leak."

"Imagine, the things we never knew about you. Draco Malfoy uses the girls' bathroom."

Ginny hoped that would get a rise out of him. She wanted to involve him in an argument. Arguing with Malfoy was familiar.

She really didn't like the smirk on his face.

"Actually, Weasley," he drawled, "I think you may have gotten the wrong bathroom in your haste to rid yourself of your dinner. Or did you miss the urinals? You know, the white porcelain things on the wall to the right of the sinks."

"I know what a urinal is," Ginny snapped. Ugh, could he really be serious? She'd puked her guts out in the boys' bathroom?

"With six brothers I would certain hope so, but one never can tell with your type."

Ginny was on her feet before he even closed his mouth. "My type? Now, Malfoy, please do tell me what you mean by my type," she said levelly, thinking she saw red, or maybe that was just the fire. The fire that was reflected in Malfoy's eyes.

"You know, the less pure wizards," he replied in the same chatty tone she'd used. "Not quite half-bloods, but not nearly so good as--"

Ginny launched herself at him without waiting for the rest of the sentence. "You miserable bastard, I--" she began, propelling her left fist at his chest--despite being right handed, she always led left--intending to knock the wind out of him, an action at which she was very skilled, having had a good deal of practice with her brothers. But he caught her arm and twisted out of the way so that her fist flew past him, falling harmlessly on the chair. Her motion drove her directly into his rib-cage. She let out a surprised "Oof" and fell against him. He held her there.

"Won't you Gryffindors ever learn not to telegraph your moves?"

"Damn you, Mal--"

He smirked and covered her mouth with his before she could complete her insult. Her nerves tingled with electricity for an instant and then she pushed off of him, breathing raggedly.

"I'm not finished. You shouldn't interrupt me. It's rude. But I guess the rules of common courtesy don't apply to Malfoys." She glared at him.

Malfoy appeared bored but his breathing sounded a little too fast. Good. If she wasn't comfortable she certainly didn't want him to be, either. He shook his head. "Weasley, even Potter has better insults than you. You're out of practice."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. The less I see you the happier I am."

Malfoy stood up. Less than a foot lay between them. "Really. Is that true, when I can hear your heart racing?"

Ginny wasn't sure if he was bluffing. She couldn't judge very well with the blood pounding against her temple. "Get over yourself. You don't have that effect on every female you meet."

"Most of the girls at Hogwarts would beg to differ."

Okay, he had a point. "They're all showing a serious lack of judgement, then."

He smirked. She suddenly realized she didn't have to take any more of this. "Goodbye, Malfoy." Ginny forced her feet to carry her out of the room. When she turned to shut the door she caught a brief glimpse of his face, still wearing that bemused smirk. Ugh. She never would have expected to look forward to the walk downstairs, but even those plaintive eyes were better than dealing with Draco Malfoy.

**********************

Ginny was so preoccupied with avoiding Draco Malfoy on Sunday that she forgot a crucial detail: she didn't want to run into Jeremy Hayden, either.

Or rather, see Cora waltz into the Gryffindor Common Room, Jeremy in tow.

Should've stayed in bed.

It probably wouldn't have done any good. Cora would have drug Jeremy right into the girls' dormitory, propriety, despite her high French breeding, completely lost on her. It never would have dawned on Cora that Ginny might want to be left alone. Cora couldn't begin to comprehend that anyone could actually desire solitude. Cora genuinely liked people, and didn't much care in whose company she was, outside of that of her best friends. She didn't discriminate against age, clique, anything. Nobody, not even the Slytherins, could bring themselves to dislike her. Oddest of all, Snape actually seemed to like her. Ginny had asked her why but Cora said she wasn't entirely certain. She'd seemed to be evading the question, but Ginny didn't push it. It hadn't seemed important.

Cora bounced directly into Ginny's line of vision. Ginny sunk lower into the squishy red armchair. "Feeling antisocial today, are we?"

Ginny smiled weakly.

"Jeremy's here," Cora glared to Ginny's left, where, presumably, Jeremy waited. "He won't come say hi, though, because he seems to think you don't want to be bothered, and says he won't come in unless you want him to."

See, Jeremy had the right idea. Jeremy knew her, not that Cora didn't, but she, unlike Jeremy, was ignorant of Ginny's moods, or perhaps chose to ignore them. Jeremy, however, read into Ginny's actions and reacted accordingly. He might be injured by her lack of excitement at his presence, but he would understand her unenthusiasm and leave her alone.

Cora, on the other hand... Ginny half-expected to see a wagging tail and a panting tongue any moment.

If Jeremy was the only force she had to deal with, Ginny would have told him to leave and would have gone back to bed for an hour or thirty-six, but she couldn't face the disappointment on both Cora and Jeremy's faces.

Ginny molded her lips into a half-assed attempt at a perky smile. "Of course I want to see him. Did he really think I wouldn't?"

"He said you looked aloof during breakfast."

She found it more than a little flattering that he spent time studying her face at meals, even while she was zoning out. "I didn't have such a great night last night."

"Not with Jeremy?" A brief expression of concern flitted across Cora's face.

"Of course not. I ran into a Slytherin."

"Well, that explains everything," Cora said, in a tone that suggested it actually did. "I'll get Jeremy."

Ginny attempted to smile at Cora's back. Her facial muscles didn't seem inclined to cooperate.

Cora plopped down in the armchair next to Ginny, motioning at Jeremy, who ambled over and seated himself across from them.

"I wasn't sure if you'd want me here," Jeremy began, "but someone insisted I come."

Cora smiled angelically. "If it was up to you two, you'd spend your entire lives trying to figure out each other's moods and accommodate them. You'd sit around indoors and worry when you could be outside enjoying yourselves like normal people."

"Who says being outside is normal?" Ginny asked.

"Today, I'd estimate 99.95% of the school."

"The other .05% being..."

"You," Cora and Jeremy supplied instantaneously. They laughed.

"Ah," Ginny said. "So if I stay inside, I'm some sort of, I don't know, leper?"

"Well, yeah, that essentially sums it up," Cora replied.

"But I don't want to go outside. I want to sit in here and drink tea and read a good book."

"How about some dried prunes and a root canal?" Jeremy said.

Cora burst out laughing. Ginny grinned but remained seated, still unconvinced.

"Ginny," Cora began, "I want you to understand something. We're in Scotland, it's the middle of September, and it's 60 degrees and sunny out. In about a week it's going to be 35 degrees and raining, and it's not going to get any better till next summer. So think for a minute"--Ginny grimaced as if in agony--"yes, I know it's difficult for someone with such a small brain, but give it a try...good girl. Now, do you really want to spend what could very well be the last beautiful day for months moping around indoors? You can do that all winter."

Jeremy nodded approvingly.

"Anything you'd like to add, Jeremy?"

"I think you pretty well covered it. But, Ginny, we'd love it if you'd come outside." He paused. "I'd love it." He gave her a big green-eyed look.

Sold.

Ginny tried to look long-suffering as she delegated to Cora the daunting task of finding her other sneaker, but her facial expressions apparently weren't up to par this morning. Were, in fact, well below par. Any expression that Jeremy could dub that of a constipated hippopotamus definitely didn't meet par.

Fifteen minutes and one found sneaker later, the three of them arrived at the front entrance of the school. Jeremy ceremoniously flung the doors open and grinned broadly.

Jeremy and Cora were right: it was an achingly beautiful Indian summer day, exactly as advertised. Wispy white clouds floated in photogenic puffs through delicate blue sky. Golden light warmed them and shone off the heads of the students relaxing on the still-green lawns. Ginny was almost afraid to step outside for fear she might shatter the perfection.

Rapidly conquering her groundless qualms, Ginny followed Cora and Jeremy onto the rolling lawns. A few of their friends had congregated around the lake and appeared to be daring each other to go swimming. Ginny could have sworn she saw a large and predatory eye lurking just beneath the surface. She stole a glance at Jeremy and laughed at his barely concealed expression of longing. "Fancy a dip with the giant squid, Jer?" she grinned.

Jeremy shook his head rapidly as if trying to clear his thoughts. He looked like a wet dog when he did that. "That's okay, thanks," he replied, just in time to snicker as the giant squid caught hold of Colin Creevey and dangled him some forty feet in the air, thrashing right and left.

"I see something I want to do," Cora pointed to their right. Ginny followed her gaze to the small practice field beside the main Quidditch pitch, where half a dozen broomstick-wielding students stood. Cora proceeded to make a beeline for the field, Jeremy behind her. Ginny shrugged and followed reluctantly.

As she walked towards the pitch, she briefly tried to convince herself that she didn't want to play Quidditch this early in the morning, that she wasn't in the mood. Watching Harry and Seamus loop and dive a few times rapidly proved otherwise. Her earthly dilemmas could go screw themselves while she played.

Even as a pickup game, Ginny had always thought of Quidditch as her way to shut out her problems. The essential escapism of flight combined with the fleeting ultimate importance of the game to form a dazzling concoction that had saved Ginny's sanity more times than she could remember. Not to mention that whacking a screaming black ball at people with a hard wooden bat worked wonders for anger management.

Cora strode right up to the mostly-male group of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors--to the ones that still remained on the ground, anyway--and loudly informed them of her intention to play, retrieving her broomstick with an Accio even as she spoke.

Ginny chose to lag behind with Jeremy rather than bound ahead to the Quidditch players. He smiled at her like her decision to walk by him mattered.

"We don't have to play Quidditch if you don't want to," Jeremy said, continuing hopefully, "We could go back to the castle and hang out--"

"And snog?"

Jeremy grinned.

"Right now I think I'd like to play," Ginny said; Jeremy's face fell minutely, so she added with a small smile, "but I may have to take you up on that offer later."

His grin returned as they stepped foot on the practice field. Six boys and Cora held their broomsticks while arguing heatedly over the unfairness of numbers or something equally unimportant. Harry took charge just as Ginny and Jeremy arrived at the scene.

"We have an odd number of people? Fine. I'll be the ref," Harry said, throwing his hands up.

Isaac Tines and Nate Werner, two seventh-year Claws, would have none of that, and started a new argument over which of them would ref in Harry's stead. Dean finally solved the problem by proclaiming himself ref, no if's, and's, or but's about it.

Continuing to control the situation, Harry chose teams, himself captaining Seamus, Isaac, and Cora, while Ron led Nate, Jeremy, and Ginny. The Seeker would double as Keeper, Harry had decided, and there would be only one Beater, and two Chasers per team.

Ron allowed Ginny the position of Beater, choosing Chaser for himself instead. He'd been the all-around reserve for the Gryffindor squad his fifth year, excelling especially at Beater and Chaser. When the twins graduated, Ron and Ginny had taken their places.

Ginny knew little about Nate's playing style, beyond what Harry had taught her about Ravenclaw formation in general ("they prefer the left side of the field, watch out for their nasty Dying Quail trick...") but he'd been on the Ravenclaw team for three years, so she figured he had to have some talent.

Jeremy was the reserve Seeker for Ravenclaw, a position he'd occupied for going on four years now, and about which he was more than a little bitter. He especially resented Amy Tamara's "usurpation" of the open Seeker position at tryouts a week ago. The way Jeremy told it, Amy had beaten him out not so much in skill but in upperclassman status. Privately Ginny considered Amy Tamara the more talented Seeker, but she never would have said that to Jeremy.

Everyone floated a few feet above the center of the field before the start of the game. Dean freed the Bludgers and the Snitch, tossed up the Quaffle, and the game began. Ginny watched the rapid-fire passes between Ron and Nate: Ron to Nate, Nate to Ron, boom, boom, boom! And suddenly Seamus intercepted it and flew the other way, passed to Cora--Ginny rapidly lost interest in the Chasers, concentrating instead on whacking a Bludger as powerfully as possible in Seamus's direction. She aimed it in his path, timing it so that it whizzed by his head just as he was in the middle of passing to Cora. It caught him so off guard that he dropped the Quaffle mid-wind-up, and Ron nabbed it and took off.

Ginny grinned.

"Nice shot," a drawling voice observed from somewhere behind and above her. "I didn't realize Gryffindors used that tactic."

Ginny whirled around, her smile already replaced by a hard line by the time she caught sight of Draco Malfoy hovering behind her, wearing his Quidditch robes and a malicious grin. "You thought only Slytherins could be cunning? How typically Slytherin."

"Cunning isn't exactly part of the Gryffindor job description. Brave, okay; stupid, certainly; cunning, no."

"Stupid?"

"Like Longbottom, for one. Guess the Hufflepuff quota was all filled up by the time he got to the Sorting Hat."

Ginny casually heaved a convenient Bludger in Malfoy's direction. The almost lazy motion of her bat had deceived many an unsuspecting player into fatal carelessness, and Malfoy appeared to be one of them: he hadn't even bothered to move yet, though the Bludger careened towards him. Just before the dull thud of ball against body, a sound Ginny swore she didn't enjoy, Malfoy swerved minutely to the right, in a motion almost as nonchalant as Ginny's.

"Easily angered today, aren't we?" Malfoy oozed silkily. "Don't tell me Longbottom actually means something to you, Weasley. You may have gone to the Yule Ball with him three years ago, but we all know that was just a pity date."

"I have never dated anyone out of pity," Ginny glared at him. If she wasn't so angry she might have speculated more on how Malfoy remembered she'd gone to the Yule Ball with Neville in third year. "Neville is a very good person and I was honored to go with him."

Malfoy shook his head dismissively. "Weasley, Weasley. Even I know better than that. You were happy to get to go to the Ball. Longbottom was only your means to that end.

He meant nothing to you."

"Neville is my friend, Malfoy, and he knew perfectly well he meant nothing more to me than that when he asked me, and he never expected anything more than friendship from me, and I went with him because I genuinely wanted to go with him, and why am I explaining all this to you anyway?" Ginny paused briefly to catch her breath, continuing just as rapidly, "Why do you care what happened between me and Neville Longbottom three years ago? I can't see why this matters to you, unless you have a secret crush on him and you're checking out his background...?"

"You may rest assured that that is mostly certainly not the case." Malfoy looked faintly and snootily repulsed at the very thought.

"Well, I didn't date him out of pity. He's worth ten of you, Malfoy, and that's all there is to it."

"You Gryffindors have really got to get some new lines," Malfoy replied tiredly. "You say you don't date anyone out of pity?"

"That's right." She realized belatedly that she was agreeing with a Malfoy, an act that, in her household, was generally not considered a Healthy Practice. "Why?"

He spread his lips wide to reveal a flash of teeth, reflecting the sunlight so brilliantly that his features blurred together in the glare and she could not see his eyes at all. "If you don't date anyone out of pity, what are you doing with that miserable boyfriend of yours?"

Ginny slammed forward towards Malfoy, jerking back mere feet away from hitting him as a Bludger whizzed within inches of her head.

Bludger. Quidditch. She'd completely forgotten about the game.

"Hey Ginny! Where have you been for the past five minutes?" Cora yelled from across the pitch.

"Yeah, we've needed you!" Jeremy added.

Ginny spun back around to face Malfoy but saw only trees. Damned sneaky bastard. "Be right there!" she called out. She thought she saw a hint of silver and black amidst the evergreens that lined the practice field, but it disappeared and she did not see it again.

Ginny flew over to the area of the main action and found the score to be 110-80 against her team. Her beating skills helped that--they were up 130-120 when Harry caught the Snitch--but she couldn't attribute her displeasure with the game to being beaten. Harry never lost in Quidditch; as long as his team was still living and breathing, and Harry remained more or less conscious, Harry would win. No, the thwack of bat against Bludger lacked its ordinary satisfaction for another reason entirely.

Damn you, Malfoy, Ginny thought viciously, and repeated it to herself as often as needed for the rest of the morning.

She needed it about twice a minute.

*********

The rest of the day passed in a haze of homework and chatter, a typical nondescript Sunday afternoon. Laraby had started yet another rumor, claiming that Ginny and Jeremy had slept together--not true, but far more plausible than the majority of her gossip--and Ginny let it slide.

Cora slunk back into the Common Room just before dinner, apparently having thoroughly enjoyed her rendevous with Dan Rushing, a gorgeous Ravenclaw 5th year. Cora ordinarily avoided dating younger boys at all costs, but anyone would have made an exception for Dan Rushing. She spent most of the evening sharing the details with most of Gryffindor House, continuing non-stop during dinner.

Ginny couldn't manage to pay attention to her.

She felt Jeremy's eyes on her throughout dinner. She met them only once, brown locking on green, and the corners of his mouth turned up as if he was going to smirk, but he smiled instead, grinned at her openly, not caring who saw. She meant to smile back, because he would have liked that, but her muscles seemed disinclined to be motivated by his cheerfulness. She merely looked at him instead, and even that feeble attention fed his apparent contentment.

Why did he have to be so easily pleased?

She did not look at him again but she could not ignore his unfailing notice. Every glint of candlelight on the tines of her fork, every touch of the pumpkin juice glass to her lips, every bite of steak she chewed far too long and choked down, he marked them all and catalogued them, storing the tiny memories in a glass, to be taken out and admired later.

He did not need such remembrances; he had a thousand memories of steak and potato dinners at Hogwarts already, she was certain. Why would one more make a difference?

She almost wanted to scream at him, Why do you watch me? Why do you stare at me like you're dying, drowning in my presence? Why should I affect you like this?

Why did he stare at her like she was something he wanted but could not have? He already had her, and she would not leave him. He had to know that. There was no need to stare at her like he'd never see her again.

She wished he wouldn't watch her. Even this morning she'd found such attentions flattering; only now did she recognize the danger of his gaze. It made her feel like a specimen under glass: too much time under the microscope, Jeremy would discover things, regardless of what she might do to prevent it. She doubted he would use such knowledge against her, but she didn't want him to know things she didn't know he knew about her, things he might chance to see flicker across her face in a moment when she accidentally let down her guard. She'd always been so careful about maintaining her composure in public; such lapses in her vigilance were few and far between, though they'd been occurring with a good deal more regularity recently, a fluke she'd attributed to lack of sleep. In sleep she could release her emotions; once the curtains were drawn, she could dream freely; she was glad she rarely remembered her dreams. During the days she dreamed of sleep, her head would droop, and the floodgates open gradually...

She'd always caught herself before she revealed too much, but safety never hurt. She had no intentions of being sorry again.

So she longed to scream at Jeremy, to force his gaze away from her, she at whom he of all people should have the right to stare, to close his eyes to her secrets.

But she did not scream, and not only because she found her throat constricted, her tongue dead in her mouth, her lungs tightened almost too painfully for her to bear, but also because it wouldn't have done any good.

He would have kept on staring.